


Normally I'd Lie

by ForgottenChesire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Sorta Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: Anthea will do everything in her power to keep Mycroft, be it safe or just in her arms. Even if it means working with a criminal. The oldest Holmes is hers and she is his. And if she happens to endear herself to a criminal, well, that's one less person she has to worry about killing.





	Normally I'd Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I found a really cool picture of Jeremy Renner as Sebastian Moran and that is who I based mine off of.

Anthea stares at the PAD in her hands. Her shoulders are tense as she paces the floor of the small hotel room she has gotten for the duration of the mission. Mycroft is missing, kidnapped along with Sherlock and no one not even, she shudders as she thinks the name, Jim Moriarty. And hadn’t that been a low blow to her pride having to ask that… that… monster if he had anything to do with their abduction. The one good thing to come out of it is that the criminal mastermind  _ hates _ it when his toys are taken without his consent. This means that she has on loan his best sharp shooter. Not that she trusts the man as far as she can throw him.

 

_ “I think I found them. I hope you have a doctor on call.” _

 

She shows no outward sign that she heard the voice floating through the earpiece.

 

_ “It looks like they were roughed up a bit. Sending you the coordinates now. Do you still need me?” _

 

A part of her wants to tell the man to run back to his master like a good dog. But the striking image the man presented when he slunk out of the shadows, blue eyes almost glowing and dirty blond hair looking as if it was used to hold him in place, stills her tongue. Because despite his bedraggled and innocent looks, that strong jaw and tired eyes held a promise of death and destruction.

 

“Copy that, I do have a doctor on hand. Assistance would be appreciated but not needed,” she says instead.

 

_ “Who am I to deny it when asked so sweetly.” _

 

Plans are made both over the communicator and in person. It will be a tough extraction but with Moran providing cover fire and Doctor Watson there for medical support and the small army of very qualified men, it should work. First, the security cameras and drones are taken out. A quick search beforehand gives her the schematics to the almost maze-like compound. If Moran is to be believed than Mycroft and his brother are being held in an interior room on the same side as the small hangar.

 

Watson follows her closely, he provides cover for her as they charge along the hallways. Like a deadly two-headed snake, they hunt down the missing halves of themselves. She’s not military trained like Moran or Watson but she’s still a decent shot and those that she can’t take out with a gun fall prey to the thin poison covered blade in her heels. She can hear Moran’s excited breathing as he rains bullets from his high point and her men shouting orders as they help clear the way. The people, unknowns trying to make a name for themselves, will learn why you shouldn’t touch the Holmes if you want to live.

 

The unlucky man standing guard over Mycroft falls in a particularly gruesome spray of blood.

 

“Mycroft,” she breaths out. Something loosens as she takes in the sight of her boss and lover. The thinning red hair, the sharp nose, he’s all there if a bit roughed up. She walks up to him allowing herself a short touch before she cuts him loose. Sherlock is in worse condition but that is no surprise considering that he still can’t keep his deductions to himself.

 

_ “You may want to hurry it up. They have backup coming and I only have so many bullets.” _

 

Her men radio in that they have control of the hangar but she may want to hurry up.

 

“Come along,” she tells them once Watson has given the okay. With no obvious internal injuries to worry about they lead the two out. It’s almost exhilarating, the rush, the fear, but with Mycroft behind her and lives having been ended it cuts the thrill down. She isn’t expecting Moran to be waiting in the hangar but she says nothing to the man as she heads to the cockpit. The ship’s controls are outdated, it’s a fucking dinosaur compared to others she has piloted but she gets it up into the air.

 

“Do you even know how to drive this thing?” Moran asks right before she has to jerk the steering wheel. The small beast of a spaceship turns quickly unbalancing any who aren’t accustomed to flying. She throws a lofty smirk over her shoulder, privately enjoying the pallor on the man’s face.

 

“Normally, I’d lie and say yes. But considering the fact that I almost flew us into that building, I’m going to assume you know the answer.”

 

Moran mutters something that sounds like ‘joy’ and she gives all her attention to flying the ship.

* * *

 

“We should do this again,” Moran says with a dip of his head, “Siding with the good guys makes me feel positively dirty.”

 

The man leaves shortly after that and Anthea turns her attention to the only thing that matters in her world. So many call her cold because she doesn't react how they think she should but she feels deeply about many things. About the twitch of his lips, the cadence of his voice, the feeling when a plan works out beautifully, all these things make her glad to be alive. Watson is focused as he heals the bumps and bruises and cuts that litter the Holmes boys. And while she can’t hear what is being said she can read his lips and infer from the way the Holmes boys move. Little tells, looking away, straighter shoulders, a sniff. Watson is just as displeased as she is that they slipped their bodyguards and were then captured by amateurs.

 

She joins them coming to stand beside Mycroft. Her hand stretches out and rests on his shoulder. It grounds her to have him under her hand. His hand comes up to cover hers.

 

“I’m fine my dear,” he whispers. She sniffs.

 

“Doctor Watson will be the judge of that.”

  
He brings her hand up to his face and places a kiss on it. She forgives him for scaring her but like hell will she tell him that.


End file.
